Bittersweet
by Queen of Narnia49
Summary: The relationship between Roy Mustang and Olivier Armstrong. Second Chapter: "Checkmate- Neither of them can afford to lose, but only one can win."
1. Academy

**A/N:** Because I kind of love this pairing (even if it is slightly crack).

Warning: Implied and outright Roy X Olivier throughout this drabble series.

See A/N below for info on the cover art!

Chapter Summary: "They met in a series of chance encounters."

* * *

When they are both in the academy, he is simply another face in the crowd that surrounds her, an extra pair of eyes that look down on her.

She is too important, he thinks, too busy to notice him.

Because she is one of those people that you admire from afar, with no hope of ever getting close to them.

**...**

"I'm in the military to make the world a better place!" he declares one day in the academy courtyard for everyone to hear. Immediately, the crowd stops and stares at him. Whispered conversations are staged.

She is a little bit farther away from the crowd, but is still able to hear him. She shakes her head incredulously and internally scoffs at him. 'What an idealist,' she thinks.

She is one of the few in the academy who already know that the military isn't just about honor, isn't nearly as straightforward as existing to protect the people.

She shakes her head and wonders how he expects to survive with that attitude.

Later, she wonders what his name is, if only to remember him when his naïve values land him in an early grave.

**...**

He knows of her, simply because everyone does. The girl born into nobility, who shunned everything that was expected of her in favor of a military career. People like her aren't born every day.

******...**

She crashes into him in the academy courtyard and it unexpectedly turns into a tangle of bodies that ends up tumbling to the ground. It might be comical, he thinks, if it was anyone but the two of them. If her knee was not digging into his stomach, and if his foot had not taken residence in her mouth.

They scramble to their feet and glare at each other.

"Watch where you're going!" she spits at him.

"Why don't you?" he replies haughtily.

She glares at him, with one of those terrifying looks that paralyzes every poor sap who has the misfortune to witnessing it. With the exception of a few people.

He is one of those few.

Although her glares make the very bones in his body quake, he does his best not to show it on the outside. By the expression on her face, he can tell that it is working.

Suddenly her face clears with the shock of a sudden realization, and he is prepared for something rather awful when she says, "If I'm going to be insulting or hurting you in the near future, what's your name?"

He's unprepared for the question and the idea that she doesn't even know his name. He is startled enough to give her the truth, and she walks away satisfied.

He wonders later if it was a bad idea to give her a name to match with his face.

******...**

She prefers the gleaming clean swoop of a blade, the intimacy that only a sword can provide. But when she hears him mocking her aim during marksmanship class, she tosses her hair with a vengeance and spends all of her free time practicing shooting a gun.

Because she will not stand being mocked or being anything less than perfect.

So she practices until her ears ring with the sound of gunshots and there are ten bullets embedded, dead center, in the target.

Until she is at the top of the class, save the blond girl who always seems to tag behind _him_. Until she is the one sneering at him and giving sarcastic pointers during class.

It gives her a malicious sort of satisfaction to watch his reaction.

But at the same time, having to prove herself has gotten kind of old.

******...**

His hearing must be faulty, he decides, even though all of his senses had been functioning just fine an hour ago. Because that is the only explanation there is for the sobbing that he hears, for the tear-filled sounds that emanate from the corner that she just ran around.

Because there is no earthly way that _she_, of all people, is crying. She is made of iron and steel, never flinching. She sneers at the sight of blood, laughs at the daily threats that come her way. Nothing fazes her. At all.

So why is she crying? He can't answer that question long after the sobs cease. He contemplates what exactly could turn her endless emotional walls to rubble, but is unable to come up with an answer.

Years later, he still wonders.

******...**

She is despised by many at the academy. Because she is female, and has no right to be at the academy. At least, that is what the male pigs think.

Until she fixes them with that bone-chilling glare of hers, and leaves them in bloody piles on the ground.

Instead of picking on her because of her sex, they begin to whisper about her family. How she grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth, and has blue-blood running through her veins.

Such softness, they say.

How can one with her upbringing serve on the front lines of the military, they say.

Until she disproves them all by being the best at everything she does. Until she races up through the ranks of the military and becomes the Northern Wall of Briggs.

They still gossip about her, but now, they do it in awed tones. They speak of the Ice Queen and the absolute control she exerts over the fearsome men of Fort Briggs. They build her legend, one of ice and fear. And it is accepted as fact.

**...**

He hears tale of her exploits and learns of her growing reputation for bloodthirstiness. He is not surprised. She is almost exact same as she was in the academy.

Almost, but not quite.

He will always remember the sound of her weakness and tears from so many years before, the proof that all ice can melt.

* * *

**A/N: **Word count: 983 not including A/N.

The cover art that I have for this story is very much NOT mine. The source is tagged FMAB, so I'd assume it's some sort of promotional poster or something. The important thing, however, is that I did _not_ create it and I do not own it. Please don't sue me; I don't have any money to pay you with. Source of picture is on my profile!

Constructive criticism is much appreciated! Don't try to spare my feelings, please.

The Armstrong-crying-scene was written because my beta demanded fluff and I gave her the closest I could. Yeah, I can't write fluff.

As to why Olivier is actually crying, that's for me to know and you to never find out. :P

The title of this series may change as the series progresses. This fic will be less of a story with a concrete plot, and more of a collection of drabble-type things.

Thanks for reading!

-Queen of Narnia49


	2. Checkmate

**A/N:** I'm writing this much sooner than I intended to but whatever.

Thanks to **Guardian Alchemist**, who put this on story alert last chapter!

Warning: Will contain implied and outright Roy X Olivier (eventually).

Chapter Summary: "Neither of them can afford to lose, but only one can win. _Checkmate._"

* * *

It wasn't always a competition.

And yet, it seemed like it had always existed between the two of them.

_Move pawn two spaces forward._

She had been playing ever since she realized that she didn't have the same ambitions as the other girls that she knew.

_Move bishop diagonal three spaces._

She planned and executed.

_Move rook four spaces forward._

Before the war, he had thought that he could make his own choices. After the war, he realized that he was a pawn.

_Move pawn forward one space._

But pawns, if they persevere, can become much more.

_Move pawn one space diagonal. Capture rook._

She pursued her goal with a single-minded determination, bulldozing her way through the ranks.

_Move queen forward three spaces. Capture bishop._

He was much more subtle about it, but rather transparent all the same.

_Move pawn to one space forward to the opponent's side. Switch pawn out for knight._

It was just childish games until they both realize that they were after the same trophy.

And so they move to their respective sides of the chessboard, and begin playing in earnest.

_Move castle to the left three spaces. _

Years later, they are still playing the same game.

_Move queen diagonal five spaces. Check._

They no longer have a label to put on their relationship.

Such is the blurred line between rival, friend, ally, enemy.

_Move bishop diagonal three spaces, and block the queen._

They only know how to play the game.

_Move the queen three spaces to the right._

_Move the knight three spaces to the left, and one space forward._

Neither of them can afford to lose, but only one can win.

_Checkmate. End game._

They win, but it feels like a loss.

* * *

**A/N: ** Word Count: 289 words sans A/N.

I can't decide who would win in the race to be Fuhrer, and a lot of their relationship seems to stem from the competition between the two of them. This is the very short result.

I will write another, more coherent, chapter on the competition between Olivier and Mustang in the future because I feel like this only skimmed the surface of it.

The next few chapters will be explorations into Olivier's and Mustang's platonic relationship. I don't have the courage to go into romance quite yet, since I've never written it before.

Feedback is very much appreciated! Thanks for reading!

-Queen of Narnia49


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